


There's no Glitter in the Gutter

by sugarboat



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Fingering, Hate Sex, Male Solo, Object Head Bill Cipher, Other, Riding, Tentacles, Weird Biology, humanoid bill cipher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 12:13:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8143621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarboat/pseuds/sugarboat
Summary: It's hard to get over a boyfriend who's planted roots in your psyche.





	

Ford was drunk. He fumbled first with his keys, six fingers wriggling in his pockets as though he was trying to untangle the Untangle-able Knot of Dimension 8~31. Then, Key firmly in Grasp, he had to close one eye to focus on the keyhole, jaw clenched in irritation as it missed sliding in again and again, scratching along the silver surrounding of the lock. Joining, he noticed, the multitude of other fine scratches fellow patrons had left over the years. It was a relief when it finally slipped into place, and hazily Ford was able to reassure himself that no, it hadn’t taken as long as he’d thought it had, and his mental capabilities were almost certainly still in place.

Stumbling, he maneuvered his way into the room, carelessly tossing the door shut behind him. It slammed loudly into its frame. Slightly tipsy or no, Ford had had caution hammered into him; he locked the door behind him, before sloppily kicking off his boots, choosing to wrench them off his feet rather than worry with untying them. His long coat was discarded next, draped over the threadbare sofa. The color was worn away in the cushions, from extended use by its multitude of owners. Ford really didn’t like to think about how many people – creatures – had come and gone through this apartment.

On his way to his room, Ford stripped himself of his various weapons – the Neutralizer from his hip, the Nebulizer strapped across his back, the Sub-Atomic Particle Splitter that was tied to his shin, beneath the cuff of his slacks – and he dropped them all carelessly to floor. Except the Particle Splitter. That was kept in its sheath and set carefully on the heavily dented dresser. Ford flopped bodily onto the bed afterwards.

He laid facedown for a moment, eyes closed, face scrunched while the room felt like it was swimming around him. After a few moments, he wriggled onto his backside, staring blearily at the dark ceiling. It spun between each blink. Ford sucked in a breath, and his hands trailed down his sides, brushed over his hips, and one thumb ran up and down along the half-hard bulge in his pants. God, he’d been hard for hours.

His face felt flushed, from the alien alcohol coursing in his system, from the teasing he was doing to himself – from the embarrassment that he was doing this at all. But his hands went to his belt all the same, fumbling with the clasp for a moment or two. He opened his pants immediately afterwards, shimmying around to drag them halfway down his thighs. His dick was fully hard now, reacting ridiculously to the light touches. As though he hadn’t been touched, hadn’t done this in…

Well, Ford thought, clearing his throat in the emptiness of his room, perhaps it had been a while. His left hand meandered upwards to shove his glasses back up his nose, and then ran through his already mussed hair. He bit his lip as his fingers trailed up and down his length, sliding over the silky fabric of his briefs. A moment’s hesitation, and he ripped his underwear off as well. He let out a hissed breath as he took a firm grip on his dick, twisting his wrist. His head felt fuzzy.

Regardless of however long it had been since his last, ahem, release session, his muscles knew exactly what to do, how to stroke himself, where to pinch and roll to have his toes curling. At first, just the physical aspect was enough for him. Ford lost himself, thrusting up into his own hand, legs straining to spread around the slacks that were still tangled around his thighs. Having something restrain his movements – something to flex against – felt good in a way he didn’t feel the need to examine. 

Feeling suddenly hot, Ford removed his hand from his cock, unbuttoning his shirt. He let the fabric fall off his chest, still looped around his elbows. What was he doing? He wasn’t a teenager anymore. But nonetheless Ford lifted his hand to his mouth, scraped at his bottom lip with his thumbnail, harshly enough that it burned, before sliding two fingers into his mouth. No one was here, there was no need to feel so shameful, but his cheeks burned as he sucked on his own fingers, curling them against his tongue. 

His fingers slid free of his mouth, and he tentatively licked at his palm as well, trying to clear his mind of his self-depreciating thoughts. Ford drug his fingers down his bare chest, willing himself to focus, to silence the raucous thoughts in his mind. His legs and arms both flexed, a rush of heat flooding through at the way his clothes constrained him, and he hurriedly wrapped his saliva-slick hand around his length, teeth digging into his bottom lip.

Unbidden, his thoughts drifted as he jerked his hand up and down, his hips trembling. They flicked from memory to fantasy to memory, a heady mixture of sensations real and imagined. Tentacles drifting around his limbs, mouths and mouths and mouths licking and biting his flesh, suckers and probes painting dark hickies into his skin, one large, all seeing eye, lashes fluttering in delight as Ford fucked against him – or into him – and-

Ford’s eyes snapped open, brow furrowed. Why, now of all times, why did Bill Cipher have to invade his thoughts? His cock twitched in response and he groaned, his head lifting off the pillow briefly to slam back against it in frustration. But… well, his own imagination couldn’t hurt, could it? He was still awake, and Bill hadn’t come to invade his dreams, his mind, his body in months. Almost as if the demon had abandoned him.

 _Never, Fordsy,_ the fake Bill in his mind whispered. _I would never leave you._ He could feel his heart beating faster in his chest. _You’re special._ Those weren’t words he had to imagine – they were burned into his memories, a pathetically treasured phrase. For the moment, he shoved away the self-loathing he held for that part of himself, the part of him that had fallen so fully and readily for Bill’s flattery. He allowed himself to enjoy the warmth that curled around his chest. Allowed himself to fall into the same trap that had dragged him so far from home.

 _The most brilliant mind I’ve ever seen – a true genius!_ Bill was remarking. And maybe it was one of Bill’s hands around his dick, and more of his muse’s limbs holding him steady. _Come on, IQ, show me what you got!_ And Ford moaned, heels digging into the mattress as he shoved his hips upwards, fully thrusting into his hand, all thoughts of dignity lying shredded on the floor somewhere. 

“Bill,” he murmured to the empty room. “Please.” His mind flickered through the various forms his former muse had taken – assorted limbs, dripping tendrils, humanoid bodies with too many arms, too many _openings_ \- but focused on the glowing, triangular form that so dominated his thoughts. Bill’s eye, curving in delight, lashes brushes against his skin – warping into a mouth, grossly long and wet tongue sliding against his body, splitting into a grin packed to the brim with sharp teeth. 

Was it possible for his dick to get even harder? It didn’t seem like it should be, but Ford cursed quietly, tightening his grip on his cock until it was almost painful, and even that reminded him of Bill. _You can take it, can’t you Sixer?_ He squeezed roughly at the base of his cock, loosening his grip as he traveled back up towards his head, thumbing over his leaking slit. A shiver wracked up and down his body, goosebumps prickling along his skin. 

Ford picked up the pace, imaging Bill egging him on, begging for him to go faster, to go harder, and it got all mixed up in his head, until Ford wasn’t sure which of them was keening beneath the other, panting and shaking. He imagined Bill’s hands ghosting over his sweat soaked and feverish skin, Bill’s pupil rolling back as Ford slammed his dick inside him, over and over; the profound, toe-curling stretch as Bill fucked him deeper and deeper, until his mind was an overloaded field of static, until all he was capable of was calling out his muse’s name, over and over, whining and squirming for his release.

“Bill, fuck, ah,” Ford breathed. All his muscles were tightening, heat like a taut, coiled spring pooling in his stomach. Bill on him, inside him, devouring him, tearing him to pieces, _owning_ him – a shameless cascade of thoughts that Ford would never admit to having. Could never admit, even to himself, caused his body to clench tighter and tighter, his mouth to hang open in a constant moan, and his mind dragged up one last memory – _Circles, Ford_ – of Bill and he was coming messily all over his hand, his orgasm so forceful that it arched up to splatter along his stomach, even some of it up his chest.

All at once, his muscles went slack, and Ford slumped into the thin mattress, chest heaving with quick, shallow pants. He was able to float blankly for a few moments, enjoying the fogginess of his thoughts, the heaviness of his limbs that refused to move even an inch. Slowly, self-consciousness began to creep back in, and Ford grimaced to think of the images, the sounds, the sensations his mind had conjured. How hard he had come to the thought of the monster that had ripped everything away from him.

It could have been the alcohol, the orgasm, the general fatigue that haunted him daily now, or perhaps just a mixture of all three, but Ford felt utterly spent, completely drained. He laid still for a long time, chiding himself for allowing the mess on his chest to cool to his skin, but unwilling to move. He could always shower later. Ford kept his eyes closed as his breathing slowly deepened, his thoughts turning and meandering at a crawling pace. 

“Having some FUN, huh?” 

Oh no. Ford’s eyes flew open, and the dingy apartment ceiling was no longer there to greet him. No, no, no. He standing suddenly, in the star soaked nightscape of his mind, and if Ford had managed to learn anything - _anything_ \- from past experience, it was the difference between a normal dream, and a dream with his muse. His mind still felt fuzzy, vaguely unfocused, and he was desperately unsettled, shaken to his core. But there was Bill, shining and glowing with his own light, a frown furrowing his upper eyelid.

“Whoa, some REAL fun! It’s a little TIPSY in here!” That slit pupil flicked over to peer at him, and Ford’s whole body tensed, his heart skipping a beat. Bill’s eye curled into that familiar grin, and then Bill’s entire body shifted, swaying up and down, left and right, in an almost nauseating, sea-sickness inducing manner.

“Ugh,” Ford groaned, and Bill laughed, reorienting himself and floating closer. Ford, at the very least, had the presence of mind to protest, taking an almost automatic step backward. “What do you want from me, Bill?” 

“What do _I_ want he says!” Bill let out his grating, irritating laugh again, and despite whatever thoughts the human might have been entertaining not even five minutes ago, Ford wanted nothing more than to punch the triangle right in its huge, stupid eye. “Oh, THAT’S not very NICE, Sixer! Besides, that’s not ALL you wanna do to this eye, right?” 

Blood rushed to his face at once, but Ford forced a scoff, rolling his eyes. He stiffened as doors suddenly sprang up in the nebulous expanse of his mindscape, and in unison they swung open, revealing the memories he had just, dear god, jerked it to. Was it possible to die of humiliation inside a dream? It certainly seemed like Ford was going to find out.

“I-I…” What could he even possibly say to any of this? “It isn’t what it looks like!” Brilliant. Bill looked like he had the same opinion of Ford’s meagre defense. 

“Is that so?” The triangle drifted over to one of the doors, peering exaggeratedly intently inside. Even from here, Ford could see pieces of the flashing images inside, a memory of one of the vaguely human bodies Bill had sculpted for him. The demon had been a little liberal with the mouths on it, but that hadn’t stopped Ford from exploring each and every one of them, thoroughly. (Even the one that Bill had put on the back of his knee – as a joke, he claimed. Ford had actually found that one to be of particular interest – lined with teeth and equipped with a tongue, as they all were, but at the back where a throat would be was nothing but the taut, elastic lines of the normal tendons and cartilage one would expect out of a knee. All in all, he had spent a rather large amount of time simply running his fingers around the joint, naming and tracing the ligaments he barely remembered from anatomy, and Bill had quivered and twitched, particularly when he would jam his fingers in hard against the joint, threatening to pop the-)

“WHOA, getting a little LOST in THOUGHT there, aren’t you?”

Ford jerked, realizing that yes, he had gotten totally wrapped up in the memory again, so much so that sounds were leaking out of the doorway, filling his mindscape with low moans, sharp intakes of breath. The doors slammed shut. He pretended to find a distant star cluster fascinating, just so he wouldn’t have to look at Bill.

“Hey, it’s OKAY – just some FOND reminiscing between old friends!” Two black hands cupped his face, encouraging him to tilt his head up, and Ford’s eyes flicked back to stare up at his former muse. The demon’s eye was half lidded. A shiver tingled along his spine somewhere. “But why live in the PAST when you can have the REAL THING!” 

Ford lifted his own hands to tentatively skirt the sharp slopes of Bill’s sides, before moving to rest against the being’s back plane. This was a mistake, wasn’t it? How could he fight against him, keep the flames of his anger alive – and he _was_ angry, was _hurt_ – if he kept letting his muse slip back inside him? But he remembered the words he had conjured for himself - _I would never leave you_ \- and having the demon so close was enough to bring back the rushing tide he’d thought (hoped) had been long since buried. How good it felt to be recognized, to be wanted, to have an infinitely seeing god paying attention to him, only him. 

“It’s a DREAM, right? No harm in that…” Bill murmured, and Ford could laugh himself silly at the lie. Could, but didn’t, instead dragging Bill closer so he could press a chaste kiss to his warm, glowing surface. Bill chuckled, and pushed against his shoulders. “Lay down Sixer; I’ve got something NICE for you!” 

Gravity did something he could only describe as weird, and Ford closed his eyes at a sudden lurch of vertigo, and he was falling onto his back, flopping into soft cushions. Something cold and slick slipped over his eyes, pressing his eyelids down, and a shudder ran through his body. His mouth felt dry and he swallowed around a lump in his throat. Limbs all akimbo, he felt ridiculously self-conscious, unable to see Bill. 

“Bill?” His voice sounded pathetic to his own ears. His cheeks burned. He shifted uncomfortably on the bed, propping himself up on his elbows. A hand was suddenly on his chest, pushing him back down, and Ford almost jumped out of his skin at the contact. There was a deep chuckle, and limbs – a normal, human amount for once – sliding against his own, a knee insinuating itself between his legs, that hand still pressing him down, shoving hard at his sternum, and he could feel the bed dip as Bill settled his other hand nearby, resting his weight on it.

“C’mon, IQ, play along will ya?” Ford allowed himself to be lowered. His clothes had been vanished sometime when he wasn’t looking, and Bill’s skin – inhumanly smooth, like living marble – burned against his. “Good boy.” Bill’s voice was a deep purr, the tone alone enough to have a spike of heat shooting into his gut, let alone the sardonic praise being heaped upon him. The leg between his own slid further up, rubbed teasingly against him, and then Bill was moving, straddling him. 

Two hands grabbed onto his wrists, and pulled his hands away from where they had been twisting anxiously in the sheets, placed them on taut, blazing thighs. Bill immediately let him go, and Ford allowed his hands to rove up the strange flesh, thoughts racing as he tried to create a picture in his mind. Long and slim, leading to narrow hips, bony prominences jutting out sharply. His hands continued tracing upwards, an unnaturally elongated waist, until his fingers brushed against the firm bumps of Bill’s ribcage. He could feel the demon’s chest shaking with suppressed mirth. Hands on his own stilled his movements again, and they gently guided him back downwards.

His heart was pounding in his chest and his face felt too hot. He could only imagine the body perched overtop of his own, the predatory and judging gaze of his muse. His hands found the junction of Bill’s hips again and they paused. Bill wriggled his hips, and Ford didn’t need to be told twice to finally move his hands between the demon’s splayed legs, eagerness and uncertainty warring within him.

He was almost – no, scratch that, he was completely surprised to find what felt like a normal set of human genitalia beneath his fingers, soft folds that yielded as he slipped against them. Was that a relief or a disappointment? He didn’t have much time to register the thought as, in a decidedly inhuman manner, the slit he was running his fingertips along parted like a fissure, and two prehensile, wet tendrils dripped out, twining around his hands. Bill burst into laughter.

“Oh MAN Fordsy, you should SEE your FACE right now! PRICELESS!” Whatever liquid the tentacles were coated in was slightly viscous, slippery, and his skin tingled where they roved, where fat droplets of the fluid dripped onto his pelvis. Almost as irritated as he was turned on, Ford twisted his wrist, sliding his right hand around to grab onto both of the squirming tendrils. “HEY! What GIVES!” He clenched his fist hard enough to bruise and yanked on them, the action pulling Bill just slightly closer. Some part of him preened to have caught his muse off guard. “ **STANFORD**.” 

Fear lanced through him briefly at Bill’s tone, unnatural and dangerous, but Ford kept him grip on the struggling tentacles – barely – and with his left hand began to trace the edges of the orifice. He couldn’t even imagine what it looked like; the split in the Bill’s skin stretched all the way up between his hips, like his pelvis had been cracked in half. Some of the tension in the room drained, Bill’s bright flare of anger fading. Tentatively, Ford dipped two of his fingers inside, brow furrowed. It was hot and wet inside, but his fingers soon ran into rows of… teeth. Fangs. Bill rolled his hips against his hand and Ford’s mind briefly stuttered.

“I can’t BELIEVE I forgot how much of a FREAK you are, Fordsy!” There was an edge of antagonism in the words, belied by strange fondness. Bill was always a dichotomy, fluctuating constantly and rapidly between affection and aggression; sometimes Ford wondered if there was even a distinction between the two for him. And he was no better, a sliver of mortification creeping up his spine did nothing to quell the throbbing in his cock. “Well? Go on! I’m not going to BITE!” As if to contradict his own point, the teeth suddenly snapped, sharp points digging into his fingers. They relaxed open again immediately, Bill laughing merrily somewhere above him. 

Even with his eyes covered, Ford could imagine Bill’s stupid smirk, and he roughly added a third finger into the mouth-like orifice, spreading his fingers wide before worming a fourth in as well. Bill stopped laughing finally, and was almost ominously silent as Ford shoved his fingers in as deeply as they could reach, dragging his nails down the spongy flesh of the tentacles’ conjoined beginning as he pulled his fingers back out, before repeating the motion. One of the tendrils wriggled its way free of his right hand, to lap against the palm of his left like a dog.

How did Bill always manage to bring out the worst in him? He worked his pinky finger in as well, feeling the elastic flesh stretch around him. Ford could feel every minute twitch of Bill’s body, like the demon was trying to keep from grinding down against him. Almost vindictively, Ford shoved until nearly his entire hand was inside his muse, until only the curve of his thumb remained outside, flush against the taut skin of Bill’s pelvis. The knuckles of his right hand must be white as bone from the death grip he held on the quivering tendril, using it now to trap Bill’s hips, pull at them until they were kept canted towards him. 

“Ha, Sixer I am l-LOVING this!” The stutter came when Ford wrenched his fingers out and drove them roughly back inside. “Seriously, which ONE of us do you HATE more here? Do you even know?” Ford hooked and curled his fingers inside him, scraping along the soft, supple walls that resided beyond those hideous teeth. “I thought since you came along so WILLINGLY this time you’d finally gotten over the whole ‘BETRAYAL, woe is ME’ thing!” Bill’s hands were suddenly on him, high on his chest, near his collar bones, thumbs brushing at the hollow of his throat. “What do you even WANT, Fordsy? Do you KNOW?”

“I-” Ford didn’t have an answer, and was saved from having to by a tentacle thrusting itself into his mouth the moment it opened. 

“Shut up.” The tendril in his mouth teased in and out shallowly a time or two, and then surged down his throat. His body heaved on instinct, chest and esophagus spasming in an attempt to expel the thing. Bill’s right hand lifted from his chest, wrapped long fingers around his throat and squeezed tight, pressing hard against his trachea so Ford could really feel the tentacle squirming inside him, exaggerating the air loss. “I already KNOW what you want, don’t I?” 

It had no right to feel so good. Bill slackened his grip and the tentacle withdrew. Ford gasped for breath, his chest burning, and then the action was being repeated, fingers digging hard into the sides of his throat. Bill thrust his hips against Ford’s hand and let go again. His fingers stroked up and down the bulge the tendril made against Ford’s throat. 

“You’re LUCKY I LIKE you so much, Sixer,” Bill murmured. “You REALLY don’t DESERVE any of this.” The tentacle left his mouth entirely and Ford sucked in deep breaths, frantic to breathe before his air supply was cut off again. His throat felt sore and raw and his heartbeat was pounding in his ears. Bill shifted over top of him, leaning his weight on one arm and reaching down with his other to grab onto Ford’s wrist, yanking his hand free. “Let go.” Mindlessly, Ford complied, allowing the tendril in his hand to slip free.

Manacles clanked around his wrists, dragging them up over his head, and similar bindings encircled his ankles, held his legs spread. Those tendrils slid around his cock suddenly, fever-hot and slick, and Ford’s hips jerked fitfully. He could feel Bill moving closer, and he tried to shrink back, acutely aware of the sharp rows of teeth so close to him. Bill, predictably, laughed at him.

“What’s the matter? Scared? And here I was thinking you’d finally grown a SPINE!” Bill’s hand wrapped around his cock, lining it up with himself, and Ford moaned when he felt the head of it catch against Bill’s opening. “Do you think I’m going to **hurt** you, Fordsy? Do you just want me to?” The demon dropped down onto him, and Ford tossed his head back as his dick was engulfed in tight, squirming heat. Bill eased himself off him slowly, Ford almost whimpering at the loss before his muse was sliding back down on his length.

“God, Bill, _please_.” His voice sound raspy and dry. Bill didn’t reply, but kept up his torturously slow pace. Ford’s hips bucked against his muse, desperate for more stimulation. Hands were on his hips then, pinning him down, and this was it, wasn’t it? Bill was going to drive him crazy here and now.

“What do you want?” Up and down, so slowly, so deeply, and Ford whined high in the back of his throat. “Words, Fordsy.”

“You.” _Youyouyouyouyouyou. Always._ Bill laughed, and slammed himself down harder finally, Ford groaning long and loud with relief.

“And who do you belong to?” The demon was moving his hips in slow, languid circles now, his inside walls fluttering and writhing around Ford’s cock. He was finding it hard to even think around the need for more, his entire body twitching, jerking against the chains and hands holding him down.

“You, Bill,” he was barely able to gasp out. Bill raised himself again, until barely even the tip of his cock was left inside him, and Ford felt almost delirious.

“Until the end of time?” 

“Un-Until the end – _god_ – end of time, Bill, please.” Suddenly, every binding around him dissipated, even the one around his eyes, and Ford’s hands flew to Bill’s hips, held his muse steady as he began thrusting up into him, fast and nearly brutal. Bill hunched over him, hands planted on either side of his head, and the sound of his own personal demon moaning his name was a shot of heat straight to his dick.

“Harder, Ford.” And he complied. “Mine.” And he was. Ford found Bill’s neck and bite down, hard enough to bruise, to tear whatever skin Bill had created for himself this time, and he lapped against the dimples his teeth left behind. Bill was tightening above him, around him, and he bit down once more, slamming his hips up as hard as he could, until the demon was moaning and spasming around his cock. He only lasted a few more thrusts before he was coming deep inside his muse.

They were still for a few moments, Ford slipping himself free. His racing heart gradually slowed, but he didn’t open his eyes until he felt Bill move away from him. The night sky spun above him, star winking serenely in the distance. He hauled himself up into a sitting position, and Bill was still nearby, watching him. A perfect, exaggerated human form with – he snorted – a triangular head. It was kinda creepy, but only in a good way. Bill’s eye curved like he knew his thoughts. 

“What did I tell you? Freak.” 

Ford actually laughed. “Takes one to know one?” Bill rolled his eye. They lapsed into silence again, guilt and disgust worming its way back inside Ford’s chest. This had been a mistake.

“Well, Fordsy, I know you’ve having FUN in the Whatever dimension, but I HAPPEN to have it on GOOD AUTHORITY that one of those DIMENSIONAL RIFTS you’re so FOND of JUMPING INTO is going to be coming along soon!” Bill wasn’t looking at him. Ford frowned, immediately suspicious. Why would Bill ever offer him anything even coming within spitting distance of help? Dimension hopping wasn’t fun, no, but he had to do it to find some way to stop him, even if it meant traversing through the Nightmare Realm every time he wanted to-

Oh. _Oh._ Ford cleared his throat.

“Uh,” he began. Cleared his throat again. “Do you know… where it might be?” 

“DUH, Sixer, I know EVERYTHING! All-seeing EYE over here? Ringing any bells?” Bill laughed at the dirty look Ford shot him. “You’ll KNOW where it is when you WAKE UP!” 

“And when will that be?” He tried hard to ignore the plaintive, resigned lilt to his voice.

“Probably sometime around RIGHT NOW!” 

Ford shot up, back in his own temporary bed. His head was pounding and all of his muscles ached like he’d just run a marathon. And, he grimaced, he was a mess. Bill was true to his word, however, the knowledge of when and where he could find his next dimensional drift was nestled in his mind. It was still a couple of days away, and he pushed away the disappointment that flooded through him.

He really needed a shower.


End file.
